Finding Myself in an Old House

I wrote this for my friend, she gave me the subject and i formed a story.

I looked around at these old walls, the memories wighing as heavey as the world. I try to ignore them, to deny them, to fight them, but they quickly return. Ive lived in this feeble house my entire life, and although i wont ever admit it, I have hated every minute of it. The house used to belong to my grandma- my mothers mom, but she died 15 years ago, the day before i was born. My mother was in such distressed that she named me Lillian- My grandma's name, and if that is not bad enough, there is a picture of my grandma in every room of this dreadful house. I feel trapped, burden on the inside. I dont know what my mother wishes me to be, and what i am meant to be. I feel pressued to be someone that i never knew, and my mother will never forget. I often worry that my mother never loved me, but only saw me as a gift that grandma sent before she went to Heaven. I really am not a horrid person, i sympathize with mother, it would be difficult losing someone you love.

Within the same month of mom losing grandma, and my birth, my "dirtbag" father, as my mother calls him, left her. He told mom that he was getting dipers, but he never came back. Such a cliche way to leave. I often wonder why dad left, and if it was because he didnt love me. "What kind of father leaves his only daughter? He must not be very fond of her." I always thought.

As i view my mother now, she is standing in the kitchen cooking dinner for us. She is a good mom and i would apprecaite her more if i wasnt a young girl trying to find herself in an empty world. Is it wrong if i hate my existance in a life full of routine? Is it a crime that at age 15, i have seen more sorrow than most, and have tasted more tears then others? I enjoy blaming mother for these problems, but to be truthful, i live in fear that ill begin to believe it, and my life of worry will unfold before me. And i know that deep down inside of me, all of my worries and insecurites could be solved if i moved on and left this forbidden house, but wouldnt i be just like my father, leaving mother and betraying her? Just like dad did, and just like God did when he took my grandma away? I know that a betrayal runs deep inside of a person, and is nearly impossible to forget. It moves through their bloodstreams, it moves through their veins.

I stare at the front door holding the door knob tightly in my hand. I hear my mother singing in the kitchen, and i wonder: should i stay or should i run?

I ran.

Subscribe

Get Teen Ink’s 48-page monthly print edition. Written by teens since 1989.